Page 2 of Devil May Lie

Pity.

He did want to touch it. The moment he realized that he couldn’t, the want solidified.

Did the boy use expensive products to make it that shiny, or was it naturally like that? Would it feel as soft as it looked, or would it be coarse?

Would it stain Berga’s fingers like real blood?

No. No, hair didn’t do that.

He needed to stop before—

“All right, I’m sick of this.” Flix straightened from the table and grabbed a puff pastry, shoving it into his mouth before he rolled his shoulders as if preparing for a fight.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to go teach Ives it’s rude to stare.”

“Didn’t you tell me it was my fault?”

Flix shook his head. “Nothing is ever your fault, Bergie. You should apologize to defuse the situation, not because you were wrong.”

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped. He didn’t like being called that anymore.

Flix faltered. “Sorry.”

“Do you mean it or—”

“Yes, I mean it. Sorry. I forgot for a second, that’s all. Forgive me?”

Was forgiveness like apologies? Given out even when they were only meant to mollify someone?

“Okay,” Berga said. He didn’t like it when Flix was upset. If Flix was upset, then who would Berga talk to when he was upset?

“I’ll be right back.” Flix left to confront Ives, just as he said he would.

With nothing else left to distract him, Berga returned his attention to the interesting Royal, tilting his head when it was to find that now Madden was staring back.

His eyes were better than his hair. Like two dark, inky marbles. They reminded Berga of the abyss he sometimes got lost in.

He wanted to pluck them out and roll them around in his palm. Wanted to know if they’d feel as cold as they looked.

It was too bad he couldn’t ask to have them, but if even Madden’s hair was off limits…

Berga didn’t like wasting time on things that he couldn’t play with. After one last longing look, he turned and wandered off after Flix.

Chapter 1:

Madden tossed the ball into the air and caught it, only partially listening to the blubbering taking place from the ground at his feet. He’d abandoned his inner-city high-rise apartment for the seedier boathouse located at the Docks, also known as his favorite place on the planet.

Usually.

“See,” he drawled, speaking to no one in particular as he continued to chuck the solid waif ball up, “this is one of the reasons I’m glad I’m not Brumal. Beating people down because they owe me coin? Not my idea of a good time.” He caught the ball and slammed it onto the wooden coffee table, gaze hardening when it landed on the man who’d wasted the past fifteen minutes making excuses.

And not even clever ones.

Great and Muse, two of Madden’s best racers, stood on either side of the man on his knees, both looking just as tired of this whole situation as Madden felt.

“You owe coin,” Madden said, “you pay it. It’s not a hard concept, Eric.”

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